Picking a Side: Up For Adoption
by MatureContent
Summary: Challenge. Requirements: Pyro is at least 15 or 16 years old or younger. Gambit is either the same age or a few years older, like 3 or 4. Slash is allowed. Basically anything else goes. More than 1 person can try this. Let me know that you've published.:


**Picking A Side**

**Chapter 1: The Partnership**

He stuck his hand back into his left pocket, making sure the money was still there as he headed into the thrift store. He swallowed, glancing around at the other shoppers. He quickly pushed down his paranoia when a woman locked eyes with him, and quickly headed over to the Men's Section. His eyes roamed over the pieces of clothing, a colorful button-up shirt with mangos and other tropical fruits on it, a bright, flamingo-pink shirt that had pictures of cameras and postcards on it, a buisiness blazer, a few jeans with small holes in them, a few tank tops, a worn, leather jacket, and other various used items. He sighed, grabbing a pair of plain, dark, jeans, and headed to the dressing rooms.

Trying it on, he quickly found he liked them, even if they were a bit loose around his waist. He walked out of the changing stall, wearing the jeans, as he put _his_ old jeans in place of his "new" ones. He glanced at the jacket. It would come handy when it got cold, but it looked a bit big. He sighed to himself, grabbing it anyways. He glanced back at the shirts. He had been hoping to find a shirt to replace the swiss-cheesed one he had on right now, but a tank top would do. He grabbed a black one, frowning a bit at a small rip in the side before heading to the check-out. He payed for the jacket and the tank top, no one noticing the change of pants. He quickly left then, glad to get out of the store with the tiny windows and the solid walls, and the tiny, _tiny_ fitting room, and, well, everything that a claustrophobic person _shouldn't_ go into.

He ran a hand through his dirty red hair as he walked down the street. It wasn't hot today. It was breezy. Very breezy. The wind sliced through the newly-bought jacket, chilling him. He pulled it tighter around his body, as he kept walking. He pulled the rest of his money out of his jacket pocket, counting it quickly. Damn, he was running low. He hardly had enough to pay for a bus ticket! He swore under his breath as he felt a rain drop on the bridge of his nose. He wiped it off, the water was cold against his finger, but he ignored it. He quickly ducked into an alley, pulling out his lighter.

He flicked it open, swallowing nervously before looking around to make sure no one was watching. No one was in sight. He smiled a little as the flame burst from the lighter, quickly catching a pile of twigs and leaves on fire. He sat down next to it, putting his hands in front of it and watching with wonder as the fire seemed to be _pulled_ towards him. He smirked, catching part of it in his hand. It felt so warm, so comforting, so _alive_. It felt like a heartbeat. Just a heartbeat, beating for him, and him only. It was nice, in a way, to think that the fire was beating for him, and only him. But it wasn't, really. It had a little mind of it's own.

Strangely, he found himself talking to it. "I'm sorry. It's been getting harder." He whispered to it, "The world is aware of mutants and people are openly hostile to them. I've had to make sure no one's seen me do this, but it's hard when you're trying to hide in cities and stuff." He swallowed nervously, "That's why I haven't gotten to play with you for a while."

The fire flickered, but then grew, as if it had accepted his apology. He smiled at it, imagining that it was smiling back at him, "Do you think they'll come after me? Those people?" He grew agitated, "I don't want them to come after me! I want them to leave me alone!" He sniffed when the fire died out, as if leaving him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking down at the flames in the leaves and the twigs, "Come back..." He pleaded, "Please come back..."

He held his hand out, trying to call the flame back into the palm of his hand, but the tears blurring his vision made him lose his concentration. His hand fell limply to his side as he stared mournfully at the flames. The rain started to fall harder, putting the small embers out. He sniffed, taking his lighter out and strugged to pull some fire into his hand.

He was cold.

**~:~**

Professor Charles Xavier sat at the great machine that he, his friends, and his students, liked to call 'Cerebro'. The helmet fit over his head perferectly as his brow creased in confusion and frustration. He was trying to track down a mutant, but it was hard with how often the boy moved around. He would always catch little snippets of the boy's thoughts. Little thoughts of loneliness and depression. Sometimes he even got wild, erratic, thoughts of the boy feeling that he was being watched, hunted, and sought out for. Charles wanted desperately to help the kid, but he wasn't sure if he could anymore.

"Charles," A calm, collected voice spoke from somewhere, sounding very faint.

With a tired sigh, he took the helmet off, setting it down before rotating his wheel chair to meet the eyes of his friend, Ororo, also known as Storm. "Yes?" He asked, raising an interested eyebrow at her.

"I know you're looking for the boy, but there is such a thing called 'over-working'." She scolded lightly, smiling a little.

He smiled back comfortably, "Yes, well, I feel that this boy's case may not be as simple as the other's." He frowned a bit, "I can sense some of his thoughts, and they're all laced with heavy emotion. He seems to have a hard time trusting people, too. He is very paranoid. He always feels as if something's watching him, possibly even hunting him."

Storm smiled a little, "Well, technically, _you _are." She paused, "Do you think he can sense it? I mean, do you think he can sense Cerebro pin-pointing him? Could it be part of his mutation?"

Charles paused in thought before shaking his head, "No. I am sure that this boy is only a pyrokinetic, and a very strong one, at that." He paused, "His thoughts seem well-guarded, as if he's expecting a telepath to be seeking him."

Storm frowned before shaking her head, "Let's head back upstairs, the students are excited to be back from Christmas Break, and are waiting to see you."

Charles smiled, "Of course." They headed upstairs.

**~:~**

The living room was in chaos, even more so than it had been five minutes ago. Kitty phased out of the left wall, shrieking as Kurt teleported in front of her, holding that infuriating piece of mistle toe. Bobby and Evan were wrestling on the floor, throwing insults back and forth at each other. Rahne sat in the corner, smirking at it all while Amara discreetly heated up Scott's tea. Scott sat next to Jean, talking idly about his weekend with the Proffesor, he grabbed his tea, taking a sip before spitting it out, having burned his tounge. It landed on Rahne's face, causing her to shriek and leap up, transforming into a wolf.

Scott swallowed nervously as she gave him a loud, warning growl, which silenced the whole room, before she stalked to her room to take a shower. Amara giggled loudly, and Evan and Bobby continued their wrestling. Sam sat in a corner, listening to his ipod with the music turned up all the way. Laura studied her classmates' behavior with interest, while standing next to the Christmas tree. Some of the other students were still arriving, and with each arrival, they brought more and more noise.

Soon, the Profesor and Storm entered the room, followed closely by Logan, who held a coffee mug in his hands. They surveyed the students with raised eyebrows, well, at least Charles and Ororo did, Logan just grunted, unimpressed, at the teenager's behavior. He quickly turned, walking away, muttering about how much he hated holidays.

Scott was the first to notice the Professor, and, upon doing so, jumped up with suprise and enthusiasm, which caught the other student's attention, "Professor!" He exclaimed, happy and slightly relieved.

Jean stood up next, and politely asked if she could fix him and Storm a cup of tea. "Yes, thank you, Jean." Charles said, smiling. Storm nodded, too, and Jean left the room.

The other students scrambled to their feet. "Merry belated Christmas, Proffesor!" Sam exclaimed, smiling goofily as he ate a chocholate bar that he had gotten from his parents before they dropped him off at the Mansion.

Kitty smiled widely, "We're gonna have a huge dinner, right, Proffesor? 'Cause I can, like, _totally_ help cook! My mom's been teaching me how to make these really awesome brownies that I know you will all just die for!" She quickly hurried out of the room, followed by Kurt, who gave them a shaky thumbs up before running off to make sure Kitty didn't make any more "Muffin Disasters."

Amara rolled her eyes at them before handing Storm and Charles the presents she had gotten them, "Everyone else was going to wait until tonight, but I don't feel like doing that, so here ya go!" She quickly deposited the Professor's gift into his lap, and handed Storm hers.

They smiled and thanked her, placing them under the tree for later, "We'll have to wait until everyone gets here." Storm told Amara, smiling kindly.

Scott stepped forward, looking a bit serious, "Could I talk to you in your office, Professor?"

"Of course." Charles said, leading Scott to his office. Charles moved behind his desk, folding his hands politely in his lap as he looked at his adopted son. Scott swallowed, looking slightly nervous before quickly sitting in one of the big, green, comfy chairs that was across from the Professor's desk.

"I overheard Logan and Ororo talking." Scott started, getting to the point right away, "They said something about how you were working hard to find a mutant..." He trailed off, looking at Charles expectantly.

Charles sighed, running a hand across his tired eyes, "Yes, Scott. I have been searching for a mutant." He sighed, "This one, however, proves to be more difficult than any other mutant Cerebro has tried to locate."

Scott pursed his lip, "Different how?"

The Professor sighed, "He...Doesn't stay in one spot, Scott. He's always moving around. In fact, he moves around so quickly, that Cerebro may need to have a few updates in order to track down this particular mutant, and find out who he is."

Scott nodded, "So this mutant doesn't want to be found." Scott said, shaking his head, "Professor, for all you know, he could be a criminal."

"He's not." Charles said abruptly, ending that train of thought, "I've seen inside his head, Scott."

Scott looked suprised, but Charles continued, "Not on purpose, though. His thoughts are wild and erratic. Almost all of them are laced with heavy emotion. Emotion _I_ can feel, Scott."

"I thought you weren't an empath." Scott frowned.

Charles sighed, "I'm not, and that's what worries me."

Scott's eyes widened in realization, "He's suppressing his emotions, so they are connecting to the thoughts he has in his head."

Charles nodded, giving Scott a small smile of praise, "Yes, and, with his power, that is a very dangerous thing to do."

Scott frowned, "What is his power?"

"He is a pyrokinetic. I don't know the full extent of his abilities and his control. I don't even know if he has any control. That's why we must find him." Charles said, frowning.

"So, basically what you're saying is that supressing his emotions could make him...?" Scott frowned, unsure of what to say, "Could make him what? Explode?"

Charles ignored the mental images he got from that sentence and nodded, "Yes, Scott, he may very well be a ticking time bomb. But I am afraid that the reaction is not a physical one, but a mental one."

Scott frowned, "He'll go crazy?"

Charles nodded, "He's already a pyromaniac."

Scott frowned, not liking the sound of that, "Great." He paused, "What does he...What does he think when you can see his thoughts, Professor?"

Charles frowned, "I am unable to share that with you, Scott, because it is his own, personal, thoughts. However, if, when he gets here, he feels as though he should tell you, then, yes, you may know, but I will not share that information with you."

**~:~**

He stood up wearily, making his way to a bus stop as he pulled the money out of his pocket. He swallowed nervously, getting on the bus as it pulled up. He stuffed the crumpled bills into the driver's hand, ignoring the driver's exasperated look, and headed to the very back of the bus.

He sat down, sighing and leaning his head back. It wasn't long until somebody sat next to him, seeming not to care that the front seats were empty. The man, who wore a brown coat, a hat, and dark sunglasses, turned to him, "Dat is some crappy weather, non?" The man asked, speaking in a heavy accent of some sort.

"Ya." He agreed, turning to the man and smiling, "Oih agree with ya there, mate."

The man smiled, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose a fraction of an inch, revealing red pupils on black.

John stopped smiling, eyes widening as he realized something. The man hastily shoved the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Look, mon ami, Remy can explain..." He trailed off as John took out his lighter.

"Oih told ya to stop followin' me, mate." John said, speaking in a low, threatening voice, "Oih don't want to join your stupid army!"

Remy put his hand up defensively, "Non, non! Remy aint a part o' no army!" He smiled in relief as John hesitantly flipped his lighter closed, "Remy seen you." Remy paused, "Remy wants to help you. Remy and you are one of da same, non?"

John nodded slowly.

Remy smiled, "See? Remy want to help his frere. See, you and Remy are like brothers. We one o' da same kind, an' not'ing can change dat."

John frowned, putting his lighter away, "What do you want?"

Remy smirked, "Long time ago, Remy was part of an...experiment." He paused, noticing John's eyes widening in understanding, "You be too?"

John nodded.

Remy smiled sadly, "Oui, well, dey kept Remy locked in a cage." He paused, "An' now dey keep'n others locked in cages." He frowned, "Dat aint right, mon ami. Remy want to help dem."

John nodded, "So, what, we just storm the place and get 'em out?" He asked sarcastically, wanting to know if there was a plan involved.

Remy shook his head, "Non. Remy got da blueprints to da facility. Remy wants to break dem out."

John smiled, "Oih'm in, mate."

Remy smiled putting his hand out to shake John's, "Good. Name's Remy LeBeau, but you can call me Gambit."

"Name's St. John Allerdyce, but, if you value your eyebrows, don't call me that. Just call me John." He clasped his hand in Gambit's.

**Drabble. Free for adoption and anyone's taking. **


End file.
